


Touched By an Angle: A Geometric Love Story

by posingasme



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack, Gen, M/M, nerd humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 14:37:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13929132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/posingasme/pseuds/posingasme





	Touched By an Angle: A Geometric Love Story

The archangles were always right, and that was entirely indisputable. 

Michael and Raphael were sharp edges, and unrelenting on every side. Lucifer was equally rigid, and he was Michael’s dark mirror supplement, in absolute, unforgiving battle lines drawn in the sand. 

Gabriel’s sides were curved into unpredictability, but at his core, before his lines could choose their own path, he was right as well. All the archangles were. 

The angle Castiel had never known if the formation of each of his brethren was a product of or a cause for the function. In the end, it didn’t matter. The bureaucrats like Zachariah were powerful, but were fat and slow-moving, and it took two to equal the righteousness of one of the Firstborns. 

Soldiers like Castiel were sharp, silent, slender, deadly things. Occasionally, there was one, a specialist, who held a more pointed function, like Uriel. But Castiel’s talents were somewhat broader. 

So it was the angle Castiel who speared his way through the demon chaos, toward that broken Righteous Man who would save the world. The garrison of brothers behind him careened into battle, complementing his own skill, until at last he reached his target. He tore the hero from his mad, wicked work, stole him back to Earth with a triumphant scream to the circle of angles in Heaven: “Dean Winchester is saved!”

He had no time to spare on Dean’s comfort in the rescue, slammed his soul back into his body, healed the flesh and returned to save as many of his battling warriors as he could. 

Later he tried to communicate with his human, and learned that his was too sharp a voice. 

So it wasn’t until later that Castiel was face to face with Dean Winchester. His breath caught in his borrowed lungs. 

Castiel had always thought Anna was the most acute angle, the most acute thing in the universe, though it would never have been appropriate to say something so pointed. But now, as he looked at this obtusely defiant human, he thought perhaps he had been wrong...about everything. 

From every side, Dean was striking. Even as Castiel could hear himself telling the story, graphically, about how he had come to rescue him from the grid in Hell, he was staring into this man’s green, suspicious, fearful glare. 

There was poetic asymmetry of Castiel’s diminishing faith in his family’s tarnished absolutism, and the growing faith in Dean’s strange, beautiful free will. The falling angle had calculated the cost, knew the penalty, of disobedience. But he had also accounted for the fact that Dean felt more right than any of the archangles ever had, and something in him just believed that Dean held the truth, no matter what he heard from above when he sought Revelation. They could try to realign Castiel all they liked, but when it came time to draft a straight angle in the sand, Castiel belonged at Dean’s side. 

Dean and his brother were complementary in ways Michael and Lucifer could never hope to be. While the archangles faced opposite directions, diametrically opposed in every way, these human brothers stood strong at one another’s backs. It may have looked the same to someone who did not know and love them, but Castiel did. Michael and Lucifer were two halves ripped apart. Dean and Sam were two halves that became whole when together. 

Sam and Castiel were sometimes perpendicular to one another, brought together by their vertex, Dean. Castiel was the golden rebel of Heaven. Sam was the reluctant king of Hell. And Dean dragged them each back to earth where they belonged. They were sometimes parallels too, in that Castiel saw in Sam’s heart the same desperate need to prove himself to the only one who truly mattered, the one at the center of their mission. He saw the trajectory of Sam’s faith following his own, away from Heaven and toward Dean and the fight for free will, against the destiny which circled them all like a vulture. 

Sam was one ray of sunshine and one ray of darkness, depending on the day. Dean was steadfast and yet chaotic. Together, they kept Castiel flying from one crisis to another, and, finally, falling in a hopeless tailspin. 

He would never regret it. Not even the days in Purgatory, spent in what seemed like constant 360 degree combat, made Castiel ever wish he had not followed this line. 

And now, years later, he sat watching Dean across the diner table, talking with a mouthful of pi, and he knew he had made the right choice all those years ago. Perhaps Castiel was skewed beyond repair. Perhaps he had grown to be something an angle was never meant to be. But when Dean grinned at him like that, his heart soared in a way his wings never had. Their friendship had become legendary, had become far more than friendship. 

Dean and Castiel were asymptotic lovers. There had never been much need for touch between them, nor many words. They grew closer every unit of Time, in every possible way. No matter the degree to which threats opposed them, no matter how the world spinned on its axis, or even if it didn’t. The constant of the universe was that the hearts of Dean and his fallen angle would ever reach toward one another.


End file.
